I found a way down the bank through the tangle of undergrowth, stripped off and took a cooling dip in the creek. Looking over my shoulder the dogs were slowly falling behind, then they were gone.įinally, I reached the Jackson Bridge. While they didn’t seem an immediate threat, I didn’t feel like saying ‘hi’, so I increased my pace. Every now and then they’d stop to sniff at the road. I turned to see four mean-looking dogs casually trotting down the road in my general direction.
The first inkling of trouble was the sounds of paws clicking down the gravel road behind me. Perhaps someone was out hunting ‘coons? No one seemed to be around, however, so I just kept on walking. Lots of farmers kept dogs in these parts and many of them were vicious brutes. I had gone maybe a mile when I heard the baying of dogs. Perhaps next time I should pack a butt plug! Even now my anus would occasionally twitch and a drop would ooze out and fall to the dusty road.
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Why didn’t I wear my boxers? Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t worn boxers because I knew I’d be coming home with an arse full of redneck cum. All I had for privacy was my flannel shirt. Well, it was a long walk home unless someone else came by on this back road. So far all they’d brought her was Daryl, and he had preferred to spend the weekend with his cock somewhere else. Gossip around the town pondered if she’d ever make enough in tips at the Diner to pay for those slabs of silicone. No doubt he was on his way to his gal Cindy-Lou, with her preposterously sized fake tits. I thought he just wanted “one for the road” but the prick pushed me out of his truck and left me here in the middle of nowhere. Daryl was giving me a lift back to town when he demanded that I get my pants off. Of course they weren’t ‘gay’, they were good old Christian boys! It’s just that they liked to put a queer like me in his place by fucking his arse once in a while. I’d kept promising myself that one day I’d find myself a man who’d love me for me, but who am I kidding! I also love being mauled by rough hicks and fucked by their fat cocks. I had gone with Daryl and his buddies “fishing” and they had spent a boozy weekend drinking and having me suck them off, or they’d take turns fucking my arse. But never had those words been as hurtful as shouted by that hypocrite Daryl Moss as he sped away in his Pickup, waving my shorts out the window. I’d been called them all as part of growing up gay in a small southern town.